The Noble Art of Remaining Inconspicuous
by Ruairi J.L
Summary: Voldemort is innocent. What happens when he escapes and gets help from Dumbledore, the one man who can help him earn a reprieve? Can he find a new path disguised as a Hogwarts student, or will he snap and go insane before the year is out? At least he can take his pranking frustrations out on Professor Umbridge.


:Author's Notes:

Hello, hello! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Oh, wait... wrong speech. My bad.

Just a few things to clear up before we begin: every situation in which Voldemort is known to have been evil in some way will be explained in an offhand manner within the story, so try not to nit-pick. This is fairly random humour for the sake of being different, not serious. Or is that Sirius? Yeah, I'm sorry about that...

Because it's light-hearted (with the exception of the opening section - you have been warned), chapters will be average in length and published whenever I get the time to let loose with my more insane muse. Wibble.

I don't ask for reviews, but do feel free to point out any typos you happen to notice. In my tired state (it's 3 in the morning here), I can miss some things on occasion.

Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter One – The French Invade!**

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle sighed in resignation.

He was a tired man. Tired of the threats, the security, the murder... tired of life as a Death Eater figurehead. It had been bad enough to start, but now, the imminent threat of death just made it a whole lot worse. Lucius Malfoy, the mastermind behind the scheme, was a vicious bastard and Tom would want him dead, if he didn't hate the idea of killing.

"Tommy boy, Tommy boy," the Albino ponce simpered, clasping a hand to his shoulder. "How many Muggles should I kill today?"

_That sounds like the start of a horrific nursery rhyme... _Voldemort thought, saying aloud: "I've no idea, Lucius. Isn't it a Tuesday?"

"Ah, yes!" Malfoy exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "You're right! That means I multiply the number yesterday by four! So... let's see... one cremation, two killing curses... a handful tortured into insanity... Wormtail's preferred method..."

Voldemort shuddered. Wormtail had a particularly interesting mind, in the same way Vlad the Impaler had once had.

"...ah, to hell with it. Let's go with twenty five, shall we?"

"Sounds... good."

"You want a piece of the action?"

Voldemort gagged. "I think I'll pass."

Lucius laughed and walked away, shaking his head. "You pussy."

Tom Riddle led a sheltered life, in that he was threatened with 'punishments beyond death' if he ever tried to flee, as well as a week of having to eat Wormtail's 'special stew'. No one knew what was in there, but rumours had it the Cruciatus Curse was much less painful. And, speak of the devil...

"Ah, Flight From Death!" Wormtail grinned, walking into the dimly lit sitting room. This was a hidden portion of Malfoy Manor, protected by wards, curses and death threats. These people _loved_ their sodding death threats.

Voldemort grumbled, as Wormtail got too touchy-feely with his only set of robes. "Good to see you, Peter."

"Absolutely terrible to see you too," Peter said. "Did you hear Nott is bringing in a new shipment of Muggles tonight? It's Goyle's birthday."

"Does that mean the piñata is coming out again, or is he trying something new?"

"I heard something about 'pin the tail on the geni'-"

"I don't want to know!" Voldemort exclaimed, shuddering with his eyes shut.

Wormtail laughed. "You need to lighten up, Tommy boy. We all thought you'd be enjoying this by now."

"The torture, the imprisonment or the leaving dismembered limbs hidden in my fridge?"

Wormtail shrugged, "maybe all three. You should join me in the dungeon someday. It's great fun, when you get used to the chill. I'll even let you use the mallet, although you might need to disinfect it first. Don't ask me why. Just accept it."

Voldemort stared at him. _That's it. I'm out of here. Tonight. I don't care if I _do_ die in the attempt. Where's Severus? At least someone around here shares my disgust. _

"Don't look so excited," Wormtail said, leering with his usual malice. The toady little man wasn't particularly powerful, but he could get under anyone's skin. Literally, if he had his way.

"Wormtail, listening to your antics at night is hardly enough to get me excited. One moment you're torturing some poor devil, and the next you're indulging in a more perverse form of Wizarding BDSM. Before long you'll break out Goyle's piñata, and after that it's all downhill."

"That was below the belt," Wormtail said, grinning as he leaned in. "Get it? Get it?!" he asked, nudging the Dark Figurehead with his elbow.

"You depraved little shit," Voldemort said, shaking his head.

* * *

That evening, after Lucius had turned in for the night and only a skeleton crew guarded his bedroom door, Voldemort made his move. Severus, the most trusted ally of Lucius Malfoy, had to blow his cover to get the man out, but considering that Voldemort threatened to, ah, sodomise him with Wormtail's mallet if he didn't, there was little choice.

Severus sighed as he stunned both Crabbe and Goyle, the hulking bodyguards outside Voldemort's room. When he dismantled the protective charms and grabbed the prematurely bald man, Voldemort could have kissed him. He didn't, for both their sakes, but it was a near thing. He did steal his bodyguards' wands, although Severus had also reclaimed his own from Lucius' hiding place in the drawing room.

After that, Severus linked the floo network in his room to a secure Order hideout and gave Voldemort Mad-Eye Moody's invisibility cloak, to ensure no one was alarmed. They needed to use it as a relay point before travelling to Hogwarts.

"And that's how I came to be here," Voldemort said, that expression of disgust returning.

Dumbledore looked at him very seriously, his eyes narrowed in concentration. He slowly stood up and began to pace, before turning back to his former pupil. His mouth was frowning.

"Tom," he said, "I have something of grave importance to ask you."

Voldemort readied himself for the worst.

"Would you care for a lemon drop?"

The former Dark Lord fell out of his chair. Without Lucius there to protect him for cover, he was rather more clumsy than usual.

"Damn it, old man!" he shouted, rubbing his aching head.

"You're not so young yourself any longer, Tom."

Voldemort snorted, an impressive feat considering the lack of a nose. "Yet I'm not quite one hundred and fifty."

"Do I really look that bad?" Dumbledore frowned, examining his robes with wide hands.

"You look like a wax figure someone's held in front of a candle for several hours."

"Didn't you do that once, to torture poor Abe?"

"It's called voodoo, and it doesn't work. Or maybe it does... how the hell should I know?" Voldemort exclaimed. "Haven't you been listening? I was a pawn, Dumbledore! A figurehead! You know how many people I've killed? Four, all of them Death Eaters for show! Lucius liked doing his own dirty work."

"Were his House-Elves busy?"

"Oh, ho," Voldemort laughed without humour, "good one."

Dumbledore smiled. "The Pensieve, veritaserum and magical oaths have convinced me of your story, Tom. I always knew you had a knack for violence, but I guess you grew out of that when you became Head Boy."

"Before, even," Voldemort muttered bitterly. "Then Dolohov and Avery got their hands on me. When that happened I had no chance. Special powers? Pffftt. It all comes from illusionary work. They took initial control, but when Lucius came into the fold..." Voldemort shuddered. "He's a monster, Dumbledore. Yes, I dislike Muggles, but that man murdered and tortured hundreds just to satisfy his lust for blood and... other things. I'd rather not think about it, really."

"Then don't. There's nothing you can do to stop him. Even if we go public no one will believe the truth. What Malfoy has achieved with you is the most efficient hatchet job in all of magical history; the public won't accept your story, no matter what. Merlin himself could dance naked in the Ministry and spin the same tale, but the results would be much the same."

"A fat load of jack."

"To put it crudely."

"It doesn't surprise me," Voldemort muttered. "You know he even cast the spells with my wand? When the Potter boy saw those spirits in the graveyard, it was because of the wand responsible, not the wielder. I was just shitting myself that they were there to kill me."

"What about your father?" Dumbledore asked, adapting a more serious guise.

"Huh, that was Dolohov's handy-work. Avery was the smarter of those two – he came up with the ridiculous anagram afterwards. I mean, _flight from death_ in French? In private the gits just called me Mouldyshorts because they had Pettigrew put... things... in my trousers."

"That sounds well disgusting," Dumbledore said, nodding casually.

"Why did they make him transform, Dumbledore? WHY?!"

Dumbledore recoiled and raised his hands in a calming gesture, as Tom Riddle looked on the verge of a panic attack. He didn't know what the younger man was talking about, but it was probably better that way. "It... err... must have been a very traumatic experience for you."

Voldemort nodded slowly. "Don't even get me started on the Horcruxes, either... Lucius found a way to siphon another wizard's soul using a modified Dementor's Kiss. So now _my_ soul is keeping _him_ alive. Have you ever had to share a toothbrush, Dumbledore? It's the same thing, only he took my toothbrush away to give me a more 'evil' look."

"Ah," Dumbledore said, grimacing. "And your... nose?" he asked, tapping his own.

"I think he keeps it as a trophy, right next to my metaphorical balls."

Dumbledore winced in sympathy. "At least he didn't actually take them as well."

"Of course he didn't! How do you think he threatened me every other day? The only things more important to a man than his soul are his balls! But can we please move away from this? I got Severus to bring me here to _escape_, not to go through it all like you're some wannabe psychiatrist."

"Very well, very well," Dumbledore said in a placating manner. "Since you can't go to the Ministry and hope for asylum, what were you planning to do?"

"I... I was hoping you could help me," he replied, shifting uncomfortably. "I mean, don't think I'm asking for a teaching position or anything like that. No, I'm hardly conspicuous, am I? But could I _hide_ here?"

"Hmm... my closet is rather full," Dumbledore said, shooting the hidden alcove in his office a glance.

"I'm not surprised, if you're still in there."

"I was never hiding," Dumbledore pouted. "It's just no one has ever bothered to ask. Except Gellert."

"The thought of Aristotle's nocturnal activities probably has them putting down the Butterbeer and reaching for the Firewhiskey."

"I'm not that old!"

"Yes, well... you're at an age I'd love to reach someday. Get it?"

Dumbledore nodded. "I think I do. As it happens, I can't offer you asylum in my school. Not when you look like that. You stand out, as you yourself said. The presence of Lord Voldemort at Hogwarts would bring the full wrath of the Death Eaters upon my students, and I cannot condone that. What's more, the Order of the Phoenix would demand I capture and interrogate you for information."

"The Order of the Phoenix is as useful as Severus Snape being appointed spokesperson for Head and Shoulders. I'm more concerned about Lucius." Despite himself, Voldemort was enjoying the return to his flippant self. He had been renowned for having a razor-sharp tongue and an arid sense of wit where his peers were concerned. That had gone out the window with his 'rise' to 'power', but now both were making a welcome return. Even being in Dumbledore's presence helped the man to calm down, if only a little.

"They do good work, Tom," Dumbledore said with a slight twitch of his mouth. "Helping people is a noble endeavour, and we need someone to fight the evil out there."

"I know. And it can't be the Ministry, can it? Not when they're more likely to attack _you_ for speaking the truth."

"They already have," Dumbledore said unhappily. He sat down at Voldemort's curious expression, and poured them each a glass of Ogden's finest. Tiredly, he explained the situation at Hogwarts, including the presence of one Dolores Umbridge, her effect on the school as a whole, and how his authority was being undermined at every turn by Cornelius Fudge.

Voldemort was silent for a moment. He couldn't believe things had gotten so out of hand. Lucius had never exactly trusted him with information, so he knew little of the outside world, save that magical society wanted him dead. That the Ministry had been dismissing his return... well, it was going to make Lucius _very_ unhappy when he decided to make his move into the open.

Not that Voldemort was complaining.

"She sounds like a self-glorified neo-Nazi, this Umbridge. I can only imagine how she'd react if I suddenly appeared before her. It might be fun, if I didn't want to keep a low profile," he mused.

"No one can know you're here," Dumbledore said sharply, "save for me. As it happens, I had a contingency plan at hand, in case I ever had to leave the school. It would only have worked if I could determine when I would be forced out, but thankfully you've given me the excuse I need to put it into play."

Voldemort noted the glint in Dumbledore's eye and swallowed. He didn't like where this was going...

* * *

"And thus, we wish Professor Dumbledore the very best of luck as he moves to aid the American Ministry in special defensive wards," Umbridge simpered, staring at the gobsmacked students before her. She had no idea where this had come from, but it seemed fate was throwing her a bone. The meddler was gone, and she finally had complete control of Hogwarts.

If Umbridge knew anything about karma, she would have watched her back every following day, for it was about to beat her half to death with that very bone.

"Next, I'd like to introduce two new students," she said, giving her falsely sweet smile. Hell, she really hated this act. It would be good to inflict some terror as soon as possible. "Brian Anderson and Thomas Potter – no relation to our famous Mr. Harry Potter – have transferred from Beauxbatons Academy for the remainder of term. They have been privately sorted, and both were selected for Gryffindor, where they shall make their residences."

There was mumbling about the lions gaining two new students from seemingly nowhere, but the Gryffindors looked positively delighted. Harry, avoiding Umbridge's words, found it odd that both of them sat next to him, although it was probably coincidence.

It had to be, right?

_I really hate him for this_, Tom Riddle thought, grimacing as he caught sight of his reflection. A pair of wide eyes protruded above a rather short nose and underneath a thick crop of maroon hair. He was smaller than when he had last been fifteen, but that was neither here nor there. At least his bloody nose was intact.

Dumbledore had given him a 'semi-permanent Polyjuice potion', which would last for several months if the user required it to. He had taken the hairs from a student many years ago, an unknown Muggle-Born whom nobody would remember. He had disappeared during the first war and never come back. As for Dumbledore himself, well...

_I must say I enjoy feeling young and vibrant again,_ Albus mused happily, examining his fingernails with interest. There were no wrinkles present, a change which was surprisingly pleasant. This was the perfect way for him to make life difficult for Umbridge, keep an eye on Tom _and_ watch over Harry Potter, who would need to be told the truth. The prophecy was an apparent lie, a fabrication on account of the Imperius Curse and several memory charms. Harry's 'connection' to Voldemort was nothing more than some idle Legillimency on the part of Lucius Malfoy and a few trusted operatives.

"It can wait," Tom motioned furiously, as he saw Albus look towards the Potter boy. Trust him to want to bring up something important in such a public place. Not to mention it was awkward, being so close yet not having to pretend to want to kill the boy. A nice change.

"Ah, pudding!" Albus exclaimed, as Umbridge sat down and the desserts appeared. He quickly dove into a piece of lemon meringue.

"Why don't you shove that in _less_ like you're a stable-boy?" Tom muttered over a glass of pumpkin juice. God, the man's manners were revolting. He was playing the part all too well. And yet, Tom could only smile to himself as he took another sip of his drink. He had missed this stuff. It was like ambrosia, or the crazy powder Wormtail had given him one afternoon. He didn't remember much from then.

"So... what brings the two of you to Hogwarts?" Harry asked, turning to his new dorm-mates for the first time and sizing them up. They were an odd pair, but after knowing the Weasley twins for five years, anything was a step down on the insanity level.

Somewhere, irony rang a gong which went unnoticed.

"Yeah, you get sick of the frogs' legs?" Ron Weasley asked, scoffing.

"No, but I hated the idle racism," Tom said, looking at him pointedly. The thick child didn't even seem to notice.

"I couldn't learn all those wacky languages they speak-"

"_Language. _Singular."

"Yeah, that," Ron continued, looking bored. "I'm doing fine just here, though. I'd never want to leave. Was it really that bad?"

Albus shrugged. He was adapting to the role of a teenager remarkably well, all things considered. Like his age.

"There were some charming French locals, but we both seem to prefer a more _familiar_ establishment."

"I think it's quite fascinating, really," said a rather bushy-haired girl. What was her name again? Oh, yes, Hermione. He was really going to have to learn these names if he planned on living with the people for almost a year. At least Albus had a head-start there.

"You do?"

She nodded vigorously. "Oh, certainly! Learning about magic and magical society from two nationalistic perspectives must be really interesting, especially when both of those countries have a history of war against each other. There are bound to be some discrepancies."

"There are. The term 'the bush' doesn't apply over there," Tom said.

Up the table, the Weasley twins and Lee Jordan burst out laughing. Hermione turned scarlet, whilst Ron looked confused.

"You mean like the jungle? Is there one of those in France?"

"I've yet to find one," Tom said, shrugging. He tried not to laugh at the boy's confusion. Ah, the crass innuendo of pubescent teenage boys. How he had despised this the first time around, but now he would embrace it. And maybe even enjoy it.

For his part, Albus frowned. He was clearly struggling not to come up with a reprimand because he looked like a fifth year student, with rather large and tacky glasses. Tom smirked at him. Oh, this was _definitely_ going to be more fun than he thought. It was a serious situation, but he deserved to relax a little. And if having fun and bringing down the Ministry dictatorship on Hogwarts went hand-in-hand, who was he to complain?

That being said, it was time to start. Umbridge wouldn't be expecting anything to happen during dinner. It was pudding, for God's sake! What kind of depraved brat would ruin pudding?!

The answer gave a toothy grin and removed his wand, although it was kept hidden beneath the table. Being an adult and liaising with a group of Death Eaters meant he had picked up a lot of useful spells, with the latter part meaning many of them could be used as a nuisance.

"_Formare rana!" _he whispered.

Suddenly, Umbridge let loose a high-pitched scream. The great hall went silent as she burst from her chair at the high table, beating at dozens of overgrown frogs which had appeared out of thin air. They were on her blouse, in her shirt and crawling all over her arms and legs. When none of the professors moved to help, she ran for the staff exit, shouting for the caretaker to get the mop:

"Filch, grab the shaft and start whacking!"

It was rumoured Muggle geologists were able to measure the scale of student laughter that day on the Richter Scale.

_Oh, yes... it _will _be a fun year._

* * *

:Author's Note:

The 'closet' joke is merely a reference to Rowling not unveiling Dumbledore's sexuality until after the books were completed. Try not to take it personally and/or siriusly.


End file.
